We were playing Bombardment, the team Dodgeball game that we got to play anytime the gym teacher couldn't think of anything to do. They'd split us into two teams, roll ten or eleven playground balls out in the middle of the gym, and yell "Go!" or "Ollie Ollie Oxen Free!" or "Die!" The fast kids would scramble for the balls, pelting each other in the face, while the more timid amongst us cowered in the corner until our time came. The smell of fear would get so heavy in that gym that it overpowered the odor of gym socks. Tell me the teacher didn't get some sort of cheap thrill out of that.
Kids play some derivation of dodgeball everywhere. You can use a playground ball, a volleyball, a tennisball (a gutsy version called butts-up), pine cones, rocks, or snowballs. In my cousin's spacious suburban backyard, where we only had one decent ball, the ball was tossed up in the middle of the yard and a mad scramble ensued. Whoever got the ball could take three steps before throwing at whoever they wanted. It was truly survival of the fittest. And of course we honored the rule devised for the weak-armed out there, that catching a throw eliminated the thrower.
I can't describe the empty feeling I got when a PE-teacher friend of mine told me that most schools won't let dodgeball take place anymore. I still wonder how we will teach our youth the important skills of dodging, treachery, ducking, and creaming someone real hard when they're not looking. These are warrior skills we've kept around for centuries. At least they can't legislate away a good snoaball fight, or a pitcher's right to throw at a batter.
Jeff Seaver was the biggest guy in 7th grade. When he picke up the ball, everyone ran for the nearest cover, usually a slow-witted teammate. And he could catch anything, even a point-blank laser beam throw. No matter how bad the teacher stacked the odds against him, Jeff's teams always won. The day I bloodied his nose, he was standing up from snatching a ball away from a recently-fallen comrade. As he looked up, leering, for his next victim, I flung my own ball madly in his direction. The ball connected with a rubbery sound, stayed glued to his face for a second, then fell away. Seaver looked around in bewilderment for who might have struck this blow. Blood began to trickle down his jaw.
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